


Unfortunate Occurrences

by Blue_Sparkle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale has a vulva, Coitus Interruptus, Crack, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dowling Years, Equestrian Manslaughter, Erections lasting over 4 hours, F/M, Hellish Bureaucracy, Humour, IKEA, M/M, Medical Hoaxes, Non Graphic Birth Scenes in chapter 4, One Shot Collection, Other, Posing as an Oracle, Prophecies, Rabbits, Sea Voyages, Seasickness, Summoning Circles, The Old Guard Crossover, discorporation, misuse of medicine, off screen sex, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Sparkle/pseuds/Blue_Sparkle
Summary: A collection of cracky one shots based on weekly prompts. Descriptions in the chapter notes
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 135
Kudos: 202
Collections: The Not-Very-Nice and Anatomically-Inaccurate Prophecies of OLHTS





	1. Unseen and Unheard

**Author's Note:**

> Outsider POV on the Nanny and Gardener having their affair

Jenkins prided himself in being a good butler. He had over four decades of experience, mostly working for diplomats and extremely rich people who fancied themselves classy nobility of old. Never once had anyone been dissatisfied with his job, the way he handled the household and oversaw the staff’s comings and goings. In the past ten years he had lived with the Dowlings, Americans, but nevertheless appreciative of his classic approach to his job. That is, they appreciated the results, as he barely ever was consulted or even noticed unless the lady of the house had very specific requirements for a party or such matters. 

But that was alright. Jenkins didn’t need praise for his professional work. He firmly believed that a good butler shouldn’t be heard or seen unless summoned and spoken to. His presence should only be felt in the impeccable effortlessness of the house. He was good at not being seen as he worked and inspected everything, making sure the occupants of the house never felt bothered by him. He was good at memorizing habits, and avoided any room that might be in use. 

This philosophy didn’t extend to the staff, of course. He was their boss, in some ways, the voice that carried the Downling’s wishes to the underlings to convey what needed to be done. Jenkins had always been quiet, and despite his age and not particularly lithe statue he walked near soundlessly. 

He knew the staff didn’t notice him. More than once did he run into maids chatting and giggling rather than doing their work, startling every time they noticed the butler walking in on their break and blushing as they wondered if he’d overheard something private. The gardener would occasionally be in the kitchen as Jenkins walked in, taking the tartan lunch box that inexplicably was in the staff’s own kitchen rather than the gardener’s cottage, only to flinch and nearly drop it when he spotted the butler. Sometimes Jenkins would walk past the security guards relaxed and smoking and definitely not doing a very good job, as they didn’t even noticing him. Heavens, even the severe and ever vigilant Nanny was caught off guard by Jenkins, humming some sweet melody as she lovingly prepared a meal to pack into a tartan lunchbox. That time she had frozen and not moved a muscle until Jenkins left again, apparently thinking he wouldn’t see her if she just stood still enough. 

That was alright, it wasn’t a butler’s place to share anyone’s secrets. Even when he spotted behaviour that was detrimental to the job being done well, Jenkins would always first discuss it in private rather than go tell their bosses about this. 

The worst thing though, was that people seemed to forget about Jenkins altogether. He was quiet, he was unassuming, the door to his own room was set in the wall in such a way that one just forgot it was there unless one walked all the way down the hallway. And Miss Ashtoreth, who lived in the room right next to his, never did. 

Lying awake just a little before midnight Jenkins stared at the ceiling. It was a pain to know habits and schedules, but this one was hard to avoid taking notice of. He glanced towards the wall opposite his bed, hoping that maybe this night wouldn’t be as most this week-

A dull thud and soft moan let him know that he was out of luck. 

The wall muffled the sounds somewhat, but the unmistakable sound of very vigorous and passionate lovemaking still reached Jenkins against his will. The voices of the unapproachable Nanny and the prim and proper gardener were unmistakable every night. It was different each time, but the cries were still there at least once a week around this time. 

“OH!” Jenkins heard Brother Francis cry out, loud enough that he knew those two weren’t even trying to be quiet.

“Harder darling! Oh!”

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Ashtoreth’s voice answered. 

The thudding happened again, along with Francis’ voice accompanying each thrust. Something smacked on the other side of the wall, followed by Francis crying out and then both of them giggling. 

Jenkins sighed and pulled a pillow over his head. Perhaps one day he would figure out how to casually remind Nanny Ashtoreth of the shared wall of their room. Until then he would be quiet and suffer this indignity in silence.


	2. These Are the Voyages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "Travel"
> 
> Crowley tries to arrange for a romantic sea voyage with Aziraphale, but forgets to account for how seasick he'll be
> 
> Rated G

“You’ll like it,” Crowley promised as he strode after Aziraphale, who had his arms full of manuscripts and parcels, and was hurrying along, the mud of the streat miraculously avoiding his stockings. “Neither of us has been on the other side of the Atlantic for a while. Do you even remember when we-“

“1224, yes I know. We had that delightful young woman make us spiced drinks before you went and spooked the neighbours.”

“See, don’t you want to see the ocean again as well?”

Aziraphale turned up his nose as he paused in front of his current lodgings. He threw Crowley a look, lips turned down in a pout.

“Oh I don’t know. The longest I have ever been on a ship was that time during the Ptolemaic era, and I cannot say I enjoyed it.”

Crowley waved him off easily. 

“Humans have come a long way since then, ships have improved significantly and it can even be a bit of a luxury to travel.”

They looked at each other for a moment, Aziraphale not fully convinced yet, and Crowley waiting a beat before he grinned.

“And think about it, there’ll be pineapples straight from the source. When’s the last time you had one of those completely fresh?”

At this Crowley knew he had his angel. Aziraphale’s eyes went distant for a moment as he reminisced about whatever lovely occasions he’d gotten to try one of the fruits last. They were a little hard to get in England, and while money wasn’t a problem Crowley knew that Aziraphale did prefer them freshly picked.

“Oh I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to expand my area of work for a while,” he said slowly. “And we both would be on the ship as scientific advisors you say?”

“You’ll get no questions about bringing books that way.”

“Well then. I will let you arrange our travels then.”

*

It had been the perfect plan, as far as Crowley was concerned. He had vague orders to cause some ruckus in the fleets of the world, maybe inspire a mutiny or two, while Aziraphale had mentioned something about helping humans improve the conditions of new cities. They could reasonably go and do their work in what the locals called “the new world”.

A sea voyage was perhaps the most romantic and sexually charged thing Crowley could come up with too. Months and months of gorgeous solitude, nothing but the oceans around them and the occasional stops on unknown islands and tropical cities. Sunsets over the endless horizons, painting the waves crimson as they drank wine and good liquor. A cabin shared by just the two of them, narrow space and perhaps a small bed for two. Forced closeness and sexually charged proximity.

Aziraphale would bat his lashes coquettishly and sigh over how they really shouldn’t, but if the angel wanted Crowley he’d have an excuse for a momentary weakness. If anything was ever going to happen, a wondrous sea adventure was exactly the place to try.

Crowley arranged everything, finding a ship that was quite a lot bigger than most of the ones docked in the Thames, clean and with a nice cabin to share. Aziraphale’s books were brought on, as well as both their luggage, and a few items Crowley supposed would suit a scientist, tools to chart the stars and maps. The cabin had a little window that would provide wonderful mood light during sunsets, and while there was a hammock the bed was small but not too much so. It would be quite the charged atmosphere.

Aziraphale was pleased as well, enjoying the ship and introducing himself to every single sailor before their voyage began. He was in a far better mood than Crowley had anticipated. The ship sailed down the river and the demon couldn’t help but imagine all the wonderful ways he could put on a show for Aziraphale. Swaying down the deck with a seductive swing of his hips, comforting Aziraphale through rough weather and playing the part of the charming swashbuckler, making sure his angel was comfortable during the days as Crowley helped him get used to the sea… it was perfect. The best plan he’d ever made!

The plan that quickly went overboard as their ship left the calm waters of the Thames and made its way through the channel and towards the ocean. The comparatively gentle waves of the North Sea quickly changed into true ocean, and everything went downhill from there.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Aziraphale cried from his spot against the rails, out of the way and observing the way sunshine made the waves look the most beautiful shade of blue. “I am so glad you invited me along, my dear.”

Crowley’s grip on the rails was too tight, the wood creaking in protest. He grinned, trying to hide how pale he was. Walking along the deck to reach Aziraphale had been torture. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t get used to the way the ground moved under his feet, the way the ship swayed with every wave. How the sailors around them moved about so easily was beyond him, and that Aziraphale had found his sea legs with such ease was frankly unfair.

Aziraphale was still looking at him, his smile full of warmth and his eyes reflecting the ocean. If Crowley wasn’t so focused on standing upright he’d probably be over the moon with joy.

It didn’t stop there, of course it didn’t. Crowley’s constant inability to walk normally and keep his balance with ease meant that he couldn’t do any impressive feats in front of Aziraphale, couldn’t climb up anywhere or show off, could barely walk the deck at all. 

While Crowley didn’t eat his stomach still felt like it was constantly clenched tight with nausea, and on days the sea felt particularly wild he was too dizzy to get uo. Luckily Aziraphale just assumed that he wished to sleep and left him to it. 

It was pure torture. Aziraphale enjoyed all the things Crowley had predicted; the ocean air, the sense of adventure aboard the ship, their little cabin where he took the bed and Crowley the hammock, their evenings of peace and drinking (when Crowley could stomach it), the proximity, the promise of their destination…

The night it happened Crowley felt as if someone had taken his other shape by the tail and swung him around several times. He could barely focus on anything besides his misery and the way the ship swayed more than usual. Rain drummed against the thick glass window of their cabin in the way Aziraphale found quite pleasing. As Crowley wondered how he’d get up into his hammock to sleep until it was over, Aziraphale apparently decided that it was time to become amorous. 

“Say, my dear, don’t you wish for a more comfortable bed?” Aziraphale asked, running his hand over the bedsheets. He was already dressed in a nightgown, a sight that would have had Crowley out of his mind back on land. “Wouldn’t you join me? I do not need to sleep, as you know, so I’ll make room for you easily.”

Crowley threw a look over his shoulder, saw Aziraphale’s eyes shining with _intent_ , and knew that he was doomed. He stood from the chair at the desk, half stumbling half falling towards the bed, and dropping down near Aziraphale with far less grace than he wanted.

Aziraphale’s pleased little smile was worth the way his vision blurred, obviously, as was the soft touch of fingers against his cheek, of course.

“I’m so glad we’re here together,” Aziraphale whispered, close enough for his breath to ghost against Crowley’s lips. “This has been quite wonderful my darling.”

Crowley stared, heart beating faster, the room spinning before his eyes and Aziraphale was leaning in, a pretty blush dusting his cheeks, Crowley’s stomach clenched in protest and he was about to kiss the love of his-

With a jagged motion Crowley was on his feet, tearing free from Aziraphale’s gentle hold, and he was running out of the cabin as fast as his treacherous legs could carry him.

*

By the time Crowley had regained some sense of balance and let the air settle his frayed nerves he was completely drenched in sea and rainwater. He stumbled back into the cabin, finding Aziraphale still in bed with the sheets drawn over his lap and a book in his hands.

Crowley nearly bolted out again, but Aziraphale merely looked up and cooed in sympathy.

“You poor darling,” he said, beckoning Crowley closer. “Why didn’t you say that the sea was making you sick?”

“Didn’t want you to worry,” Crowley muttered, though they both knew it was about his image.

Aziraphale patted the bed again, and Crowley hesitated only for a moment before joining him. At once Aziraphale pulled him in so he was lying comfortably with his head rested on the angel’s lap. The air cracked and Crowley found himself covered by the softest downy feathers, the brush of angelic wings easing his nausea at once.

“There, doesn’t this feel better?” Aziraphale asked, running his hand through Crowley’s wind tangled hair. “Rest, darling, I’m sure you’ll feel much better once we reach land.”

Crowley thought of the weeks still ahead of them, and made a distressed noise.

“Angel?”

“Yes?” 

“When we go back we’re flying.”

It really was a sign of true love that Crowley didn’t complain at Aziraphale’s laughter.


	3. Corporate Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidental Discorporation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some humorous injuries and non permanent character death in this one

The little day trip to the sea was perhaps the first real “date” Crowley and Aziraphale had gone on, though neither was able to truly say the word out loud. Crowley, because he still couldn’t believe his luck, Aziraphale because he would start blushing and batting his eyelashes and seem to happy to process it. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t gone out on dates before, but their relationship was still hesitant and shy, both getting used to what they now had. Their life hadn’t really changed, other than familiar activities getting a decidedly romantic undertone and that touching was now very much allowed and appreciated. 

They drove down in the morning, enjoyed a wonderful walk in nature, had lunch at one of those little café’s Aziraphale had a knack for finding, and then wandered on to a fair with booths near the sea. It really was a lovely view, so Aziraphale suggested taking a small break. Crowley agreed, glad that the perfect spot had been found without his own input. They were free, it was time to take the next step to solidify their status as being on their own side once and for all.

Crowley had everything ready to go, and as Azirphale turned from the balustrade to look at him, eyes crinkled in mirth and lips parting to say something about the beauty of the water, he knew that this was the right decision. 

Taking Aziraphale’s hand in his Crowley cleared his throat, smiling nervously.

“Angel. You’re my best friend, you know that, yeah?” he started, rubbing his thumb over Aziraphale’s knuckles. He’d practiced that little speech, making sure he knew what to say and not stumble over the words. 

“And… and I love you. More than I loved anyone in my immortal life. And…”

He took a deep breath that he didn’t need, and sank down on one knee on the dusty path, ignoring what it did to his pants. Aziraphale had one hand clasped over his mouth, eyes shining with what Crowley hoped were tears of joy.

“Would you do me the honour of spending the rest of our eternity with me?”

Crowley dropped Aziraphale’s hand to reach into his jacket pocket, producing the box that had dutifully refused to create weird lumps in his clothing all day. Snapping it open Crowley presented the beautiful pale gold ring inside, hands shaking only slightly.

“Would you marry me, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale made a tiny choked noise that sounded a little like a confirmation, and if Crowley had any doubts about this then the angel’s eager nodding and the way he was holding out his hand with fingers spread dispelled them. 

Thankfully Crowley’s hands behaved as he slid the ring on Aziraphale’s left ring finger, delighted by how well it fit and how it matched the colours of his coat. He couldn’t help but preen as he watched Aziraphale bring his hand up to examine the ring, shoulders wiggling with his excitement. He’d spent ages trying to pick out the perfect one, and apparently he had succeeded. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, finally dropping his hands to reveal his breathtaking smile. “This is so beautiful-“

Several things happened at once. With his heartbeat rushing in his ears Crowley was vaguely aware of the noises around him, the sea and the humans having fun, some of them paying attention to the occult and ethereal beings among them, as they were wont to do in private moments. Starting to rise to his feet Crowley noticed that the sound changed, Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked off and behind Crowley.

Halfway between kneeling and standing Crowley turned to look at what had startled the angel, hearing his soft “oh! Look out, dear!”.

What Crowley saw was a horse dashing into his general direction, a brown one with lighter spots but nevertheless of a size that made him grateful for the invention of cars.

‘Weird, thought those beasts ought to have riders,’ Crowley had time to think as he tried to take a step away from its path. 

His awkward pose however meant that trying to rise and walk at the same time meant that the tip of his shoe caught in the dirt, his balance slipped, and before Crowley even had finished falling backwards a wall of solid equine muscle obscured everything in the world.

*

Hell’s lobby was empty, as usual, the light bulbs just slightly too dim, the shitty TV in the corner perpetually playing the most boring shows available, and the low ranking demons at the desk looked as if they were ready to fall asleep or maybe even die of boredom. 

The appearance of such a prominent figure as the Serpent of Eden startled the two at the desk, a young one with tons of random strings and threads tied into her hair, and another who Crowley knew from being the demon for everything at the main office, hair brushed up into two horn-like peaks.

The receptionist had dropped a copy of whatever trashy magazine low ranking demons spent their time on, and the other, Legion, jumped off the desk where he’d been perched on to half hide behind her chair.

“Master Crowley!” Receptionist Demon exclaimed, something akin to awe on her face. “What are you doing here? Lord Beelzebub said you’re strictly forbidden from entering Hell.”

“Got into a little accident upstairs,” Crowley shrugged and sauntered over to the two, who looked torn between displaying their amazement and cowering in fear. The lower ranking demons all kind of worshipped his attitude and unique approach to things. “Just a spot of discorporation. Mind if I pop right back up?”

Receptionist Demon looked worried for a moment, her eyes flicking to her computer that was more tape and glue and unholy prayers than functional machine. 

“Not really supposed to do that,” she said, chewing her lip, as Legion picked out a phone with a cracked screen to check notifications. 

“Lord Hastur is gonna come right up to check on what’s going on.”

Crowley let out a groan and bounced on his heels. He really didn’t need that cherry of crap on top of his already not so great day.

“Oh come on, you know he’s going to just let me go. Do you really need to have me go through that? I don’t even need a proper corporation. Just… fix up the one I had. I got run over by a horse, yeah, but it’s not that bad.”

Both demons winced in sympathy. Receptionist Demon looked at Crowley for a moment longer, still unsure. He grinned at her, baring his teeth a little.

“You said so yourself: Lord Beelzebub doesn’t want me here. Would get in lots of trouble with them if you make me stick around longer just because some other Lord wants to come see.”

He watched as both quickly calculated which of their bosses they wanted to upset less. Receptionist Demon nodded and started clicking away at the sticky keyboard in front of her. Within moments she had produced a fob to hand over, rusty and bronze green.

“Your corporation wasn’t destroyed so here’s a permit to one full heal up. Will probably have some aching joints for two to ten business days but equestrian manslaughter isn’t like… bad enough? For a brand new one?”

“Never seen a horse up close, have you?” Crowley asked as he snatched the fob up.

Receptionist Demon paled more than before.

“Ew. Heaven no!”

“Right. Thought so.”

Crowley focused on where his old corporation was at, and waltzed right back out of Hell.

*

As expected Crowley came to in the bookshop, laid out on the comfortable couch that he has fallen asleep on more than once before. He was laid out as if he was resting, head on a pillow and a blanket tucked around him. 

“Oh, you’re finally here,” his angel’s snappish voice rang from somewhere near him. Evidently Aziraphale had noticed the moment a demonic presence settled in Crowley’s body.

With a groan he rose up to sit, his body aching in all the places he assumed he’d made close contact with the horse.

“Ssssorry, had to negotiate my return a bit.”

Aziraphale was shuffling around in his little kitchenette, preparing cocoa and the sickly sweet herbal tea Crowley liked. The angel sounded upset with him, but clearly not enough to deny him comfort.

“What happened?”

“Oh I’m terribly cross with you. Everyone around us had been looking thanks to your grand gesture! I had to pretend to be upset by my fiancé’s potential demise in front of everyone, it was mortifying. Thankfully I managed to convince the humans that you just needed to go to a hospital and miracled an ambulance to take you back here.”

Crowley rose to his feet and wandered closer to Aziraphale, watching him put away the tea more forcefully than necessary.

“Honestly Crowley, only you would ruin such a wonderful day with… with. _That_ ”

Crowley noticed that his ring was still on Aziraphale’s hand, glinting beautifully in the light. He reached out to touch Aziraphale’s arm, finding his angel tense, and as Crowley turned him around gently, clearly deeply upset.

“I’m so sorry, angel,” Crowley said, watching Aziraphale blink away any tears furiously. “I wanted it to be perfect, and when I… I did mean it. I want to spend eternity with you and one silly discorporation won’t keep me away from you. I’ll always return.”

Aziraphale’s lip quivered but he visibly relaxed.

“I was terribly worried when you were gone,” he sniffed. “And after such a lovely moment too! Proposals are a cause for celebration after all.”

At that Crowley’s reassuring smile turned into a sharp grin. 

“Who says we can’t still celebrate?”

He waggled his eyebrows, and Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed in realization. They really hadn’t been consummating their relationship much at all yet, all things considered, so watching Aziraphale react to such suggestions wasn’t something Crowley had gotten the opportunity to get used to.

He grasped Aziraphale’s hand, feeling the new ring press against his skin.

“How about we test out my old new corporation upstairs?”

*

The lobby was exactly as bright and unpleasant as it had been before, though now the TV was showing some sort of music program from the 90s. The same two demons from earlier were there, plus a rather cranky looking Hastur.

All three looked up in surprise to see Crowley appear, shirt and hair dishevelled, sunglasses gone.

“What are you doing here!” Hastur shrieked, fear and rage rising at once. “Didn’t you just get out?”

“Yeah about that,” Crowley coughed. He worked his jaw, still feeling the phantom sensation of the briny sweet taste of Aziraphale’s pleasure on his tongue, his no longer wet chin still aching from-

“What, got run over by another horse?” Hastur snapped, just as Reception Demon started typing away at the dingy computer. 

“Hm, nothing as fun,” Crowley admitted.

“You can’t just keep damaging your corporation and expect us to give you a new one or fix the old!” Hastur kept ranting. “You’re not even a proper demon anymore but even you should be embarrassed!” 

Receptionist Demon’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open. She gestured to Legion who glanced at her computer screen, and then both turned to Crowley with deep admiration.

“Actually you’ll find that our buddy Asmodeus explicitly stated how getting fucked to death is deeply admirable,” Crowley informed his audience.

Hastur blinked once, twice, then his face went through a complicated set of emotions. He glanced at the other two demons, who nodded in confirmation, letting his face settle on a strange mix of disgust and pain.

“Wh- you? With. With the angel? You’re _disgusting_!”

Crowley winked and made finger guns, stopping just in time to catch the new fob Receptionist Demon tossed him.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got some unfinished business waiting in my bed. Was fun catching up, ciao.”

Hastur’s distressed sputtering followed Crowley back to Earth. 

*

Crowley blinked his eyes open to the sight of a severely damaged wall, which had been just tickety boo when he was flying towards it at dangerously fast speeds earlier in the evening. His skull was still ringing from the impact, so it really must just have been a minute of haggling this time.

Sitting on the bed was Aziraphale, face hidden in his hands but clearly deeply mortified. His pants were still off, and his unbuttoned shirt was the only article of clothing on him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse from previous activities.

Crowley looked at him and then the wall again. The last thing he remembered was proving just how skilled his tongue could be, and then Aziraphale’s leg twitching and then-

“Didn’t know you were that strong,” Crowley observed. “Or that ticklish.”

Aziraphale peeked out from between his fingers. 

“I just forgot myself, darling. You _are_ terribly good at what you do.”

Crowley rose to his feet and found that his cock hadn’t softened all that much for the minute he was gone.

“Want to give it another go? Or do we try to keep me alive.”

At that Aziraphale lowered his hands and sat up a little primly.

“I suppose it would be safer if you tied me down for that. Best not risk another discorporation.”

Crowley blinked once, and then grinned as he approached the bed.

“Of course. It’s just reasonable safety measures after all.”


	4. The Trick with the Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Prompt "Aziraphale's Magic Act"
> 
> WARNINGS: 
> 
> involves non graphic descriptions of giving birth. General grossness. If you don't mind spoilers check out the end notes first

The backroom of the bookshop had been rearranged to create more space for a little stage, a table filled with various knick knacks, rings and colourful silk scarves and playing cards. More similar things were scattered on the couch and floor as well, and a large mirror had been dragged over in front of that set up, reflecting most of the room.

Aziraphale leaned on the table, miserable and quite far on his way to being drunk. His lip was stuck out in a petulant pout as he stared down at the tophat between his hands. The hat, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, was to blame for his current misery. Why it wouldn’t just stay still as he tried to perform the wondrous act of pulling a bunny out of it, he didn’t know. He’d been practicing all afternoon, standing in front of the mirror to see if his performance was up to his high expectations, whether the angle was right for hiding his sleight of hand tricks. 

He loved human ingenuity terribly, loved how they had always found ways to create magic without _actual_ magic! But he was a bit rusty, clumsy in his performance, he had to admit, from lack of practice. And as he had quite recently found out, children these days were harder to impress with old tricks that generations of humans must have seen by now. Never one to give up on a beloved hobby, Aziraphale had decided that he just needed to practice. Put some new kind of flair on it. Make sure his tricks were smooth. Make them seem new and fresh. 

And yes, he was a bit frustrated with his lack or results and the way he seemed to drop cards and coins or fumble too much with ropes as he tied knots. The fact that he had drank a few glasses of wine before starting didn’t precisely help, and as his frustrations grew he drank more, so really Aziraphale only had himself to blame when things got increasingly more difficult. Though most of all it grated that he couldn’t get the bunny in the hat trick right at all! 

He had promised Crowley to leave the poor dove alone for a while, but Harry the Rabbit was quite happy to sit where he was, letting Aziraphale handle him and put him into a hat over and over. He would fumble and knock the hat over as he tried to hide the bunny, or it would move out of reach and he’d have to search for it, or he did it too obviously and it was clear where the bunny was hidden at all times. 

Really, it was terrible! Not to mention his memories of the hurtful comments of a bunch of prepubescent children last time he’d tried the trick. That had ended with cake in his hair and the stress of realizing he’d wasted eleven years trying to save the world the wrong way. Perhaps that was the reason Aziraphale was so stressed over this trick. Bad association.

Aziraphale glanced up and looked at the mirror across the room. His cheeks were flushed from the wine and his hair ruffled from where he’d ran his hands through it in frustration. He chewed his lip thoughtfully and glanced down at the tophat. Pulling rabbits out of things was one of the most important tricks a magician should know. It was essential to the very image! He really ought to master it all by himself. Though perhaps a tiny miracle to help things along? It couldn’t hurt, and it would surely look spectacular.

Aziraphale raised his hand and snapped his fingers. 

*

Crowley had settled in for a nice evening of Bargain Hunt with a tub of ice cream and cozy slippers and robe. It was a day that offered no better entertainment than the new trend of “self care” Crowley had discovered and jumped on with glee, especially as it was so easily used to promote sloth when taken too far. 

He had just made himself comfortable with his bowl of ice cream when the mobile phone rang. With an eye roll Crowley picked it up to see who might dare to bother him, and immediately froze. The caller ID displayed Aziraphale’s name, and the angel never called him on _this_ phone. Not unless it was some kind of emergency. 

“What’s wrong?” Crowley said the second he picked up, immediately hearing Aziraphale’s nervous chuckle. 

“Ah. Crowley, hello.”

He sounded distressed but not in pain, more nervous than anything, so Crowley relaxed just a tiny bit. 

“Did you need something? You never call on this phone.”

“Yes, quite. Actually I do need your assistance. I believe you remember that I have no… ah. Medical knowledge past 1726, yes?”

Crowley snorted, remembering Aziraphale’s attempts to mingle with and encourage medical professionals until an embarrassing incident put him off it entirely. Crowley had taken quite a while to get a hang of mortal beings and their body functions, but had made a point of dropping into medical establishments to learn about the clever ways humans figured their fragile little selves out. He’d kept up with it quite well too.

“Sure do. What do you need me for.”

There was some humming and hawing over the line before Aziraphale finally replied. 

“Lets just say… I have an embarrassing medical incident that I absolutely cannot cope with myself. So I need you here to help and… tell me if things go too wrong.”

He sounded so pathetically upset by it all that Crowley found himself rising to his feet and snapping his clothes into place with a quick miracle. 

“Be right over, angel,” he promised. 

Crowley didn’t think much of what would expect him in the bookshop, but definitely not the tiny bunny hopping past him as he stepped further inside. He stared at it for a moment, then looked around. 

“Angel?” he called, just to hear a sad little groan and a “I’m over here, dear.”

The second thing Crowley absolutely did _not_ expect was the sight of bare creamy angel thighs. Aziraphale was sprawled out on his comfortable couch, dressed in what looked like a knee length nightgown, though it was currently rucked up all the way to his waist, leaving… everything… exposed. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley choked out, trying not to discorporate and die by suffocating on his own spit. 

Aziraphale looked up with sad eyes, his cheeks flushed and a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Oh Crowley! You are here! I… I must admit that I have made a terrible mistake in a miracle and now I’m just too distraught to stop it.”

Crowley tried to avert his eyes politely, only to see at least five more bunnies hopping about. They paid him no mind, and also no attention whatsoever to Aziraphale, who let out a distraught cry. 

With two quick steps Crowley was by his side, ready to provide any help at all only to see…

“Did you just fucking give birth to a bunny?”

Aziraphale looked up with tears in his eyes, face flushed with embarrassment as the perfectly dry fluffy bunny jumped off the couch and away to the others. 

“I know it’s terrible! It was just a little miracle!” 

“What the fuck kind of miracle where you trying to perform?” Crowley cried, trying very hard not to look at Aziraphale’s cunt, that was perfectly on display, what with his spread legs and all. He just hadn’t really pictured the emotions of watching a bunny… well. He certainly had imagined _other_ circumstances. 

“Are you in pain?” 

“No, no. It’s just… oh it’s so mortifying. And I can’t even check how many are left.”

Crowley felt faint as he sat down between Aziraphale’s legs, again, not in the setting he’d imagine finding himself there. 

“How many were there…?”

“I lost count!”

“You lost- Someone’s sake Aziraphale! What were you even trying to do?”

At this Aziraphale somehow looked even more embarrassed. He glanced to the side. 

“I… waspracticingtricks”

“What was that?”

“I was practicing magic tricks, alright!” Aziraphale whined. “And the rabbit trick wasn’t working well and I thought, oh what if I just nudge it along and miracle something to make it easier for rabbits to appear. And maybe I was a bit drunk, and maybe I was thinking about that silly girl from Surrey in the early 1700s last week and-”

He covered his face with his arm. 

“And now I need you to help me because this is really uncomfortable and I can’t really see what’s going on and last time I was acting as a doctor’s assistant I very much made a fool of myself.”

“With that same girl from Surrey,” Crowley summarized. 

He dragged his hands down his face, groaning. He stared at Aziraphale’s exposed cunt, so beautifully presented to him, and in the most unerotic context possible. Aziraphale’s magic tricks were mostly magic in that they were a surefire way to kill Crowley’s libido for at least two hours when exposed to them. 

“You know she didn’t have live rabbits come out of her-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Aziraphale snapped. “Now will you please keep all of those comments to yourself until I can focus enough on making it stop!”

“Sure thing, angel,” Crowley promised, watching as Aziraphale winced in discomfort and how his legs twitched as he got ready for another magic rabbit appearance. 

Crowley would need at least two weeks worth of watching Aziraphale lick spilled cream off an éclair to regain his ability to feel lust after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah Aziraphale pops out bunnies out of his nether regions. Inspired by this charming young lady
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Toft
> 
> the medical incidents Aziraphale is referring to is his attempts to help out the poor doctors who believed that this was the real deal until the hoax was revealed. He tried to encourage them and frankly was too enamoured by the new medical stuff of the day, he thought it was some kind of miracle or saint situation


	5. Adverse Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "drugs"
> 
> I went the medical route, sorry lads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wants to maintain an erection without putting in the effort so to speak. Naturally that goes wrong

Sins, as far as Crowley was concerned, was less the actions you took and the emotions you felt, but more how you handled them. Letting Envy drive you to cruelty, letting Wrath run wild and hurt more than the deserving, that sort of deal. It was perfectly natural to feel nasty things on occasion, or something that was deemed morally corrupt by various human cultures for no discernible reason that Crowley cared to figure out. It was actions that damned, and demons were already damned so it didn’t even matter what they did or didn’t do. 

Still, as was the habit of most demons Crowley liked to look at his actions through the lens of these things, patting himself on the back each time he acted in ways that would have certain overly pious humans clutch their rosaries so to speak. 

Lust was the capital S sin Crowley had indulged in the most in recent months, more than meeting his quota - and this after being kicked out of Hell funnily enough. Aziraphale was quite willing in both flesh and spirit to spend the day in bed, or on the couch, or the kitchen, or really any flat surface. As much as bodily fluids were involved, it was love and the mutual joy in finding pleasure together that drove them, making the whole idea of sinning quite silly to begin with. 

Crowley loved nothing more than wringing every last bit of ecstasy from Aziraphale’s body, making his angel feel good, making him feel cherished and happy and sated until they were both ready to go again. Aziraphale was a hedonist in every aspect of his life where he could, doubly so now that Heaven wasn’t breathing down his neck. He was so in matters of intercourse as well, obviously. Enjoying himself, insatiable as Crowley saw to him…

It was _good_ of course it was. And Crowley _loved_ it. 

The thing was though, that _his_ favourite sin had always been Sloth. Lying back and sleeping to wile away some time, finding shortcuts in spreading evil so he didn’t have to work as hard, nudging humans to ruining each others’ day rather than having to do it himself. And well, he was a demon and could control his corporation, could keep his efforts going again and again as much as Aziraphale wanted. But it required _focus_ to keep hardening a dick if he himself was spent but Aziraphale still looked at him with that precious little pout. 

The mind was more than willing, but the flesh was not always up to doing what the mind wanted in this case. 

Of course Crowley could just force himself to get his dicks up, no problem at all. But… old habits die hard and humans _did_ have such clever little inventions. 

Popping into Boots and purchasing a small pile of little dark blue packets while staring down the poor store clerk had been a matter of minutes, and then Crowley was back home, looking at his bounty. 

He’d bought way more than he needed, of course, given that he planned on seeing Aziraphale more than once a year, thank you very much. Opening up a packet Crowley popped several of the blue pills out into his palm to examine them. They were rather unassuming, all things considered, and probably would solve his problem of focusing on making his corporation obey. Though perhaps it was best to try them out first. 

Opening the rest of the strips inside the first box Crowley popped all pills out and then swallowed them all at once with little effort. The massive lump of pills went down easy, his throat easily remembering the times he was a snake. Nothing happened, but then Crowley also knew that medicine took a little while to really work. 

*

When both his cocks rose up to attention Crowley counted it as a success. He couldn’t remember a time his effort had gotten hard without him thinking sexy thoughts, so this definitely was a good sign. It would help massively in giving Aziraphale what he wanted without having to focus on such trivial matters as controlling his body. 

It was a little uncomfortable in his tight jeans at first, so Crowley miracled them away and replaced his attire with silky pyjama pants. Much nicer against his heated skin, though he was not really interested in rubbing one out. Perhaps a nap while he waited for things to go down would be good. 

Crowley only napped an hour but the bulge in his loose pants was still there when he woke up, the twin peaks of his cocks straining against the fabric. Well, after two hours of this even Aziraphale would need a break, so this was actually rather good. 

Walking over to his kitchen to make coffee was a little difficult, his dicks swaying with each step uncomfortably, but Crowley managed. Sipping at the overly sweet concoction to combat his sleepy dizziness he watched his dicks remain valiantly up. The experiment was a success then. 

An hour after that it became unbearable to wear any pants at all, even the soft material too much against his skin. He felt sensitive and raw, and not even in a fun way. His dicks throbbed painfully and Crowley returned to his couch with a pout and a hiss. 

After this Crowley lost track of time. 

His dicks felt painful and too sensitive, even touching them with a cautious prod was too much. Even his stomach hurt by now, low in his belly. They were heated and flushed with blood and just wouldn’t go down at all. Miracling them away was impossible, Crowley was just too aware of the problem to imagine it gone in any way. Miracles in general were hard. It felt as if his entire blood flow was focused on that travesty between his legs, and while Crowley didn’t need blood to think, it didn’t make it better. 

With a trembling hand he summoned one of the packs over and took out the information leaflet, reading it carefully for the first time. 

“Well… fuck.”

*

Aziraphale sounded excited when Crowley called him on the phone, voice full of love and affection. That had dropped right off as he listened to the demon’s pitiful attempts to explain what had happened. 

Less than thirty minutes after hanging up Aziraphale stormed into Crowley’s flat, eyes blazing furiously as he held a massive medical tome in one hand, and an old fashioned doctor’s bag in the other. 

“I cannot believe you did that,” Aziraphale complained as he pulled up a chair and sat down next to Crowley’s couch, ignoring the demon’s pitiful look. 

His eyes fell on Crowley’s flushed and swollen dicks and he let out a groan. 

“Unbelievable, is what you are. You’re only supposed to take one at a time. _One_!”

He opened the book on his knees and started leafing through it, muttering under his breath. Crowley decided wisely that trying to get sympathy while the evidence of his idiocy was still obviously up in the air was a bad idea. 

“Why did you even do this?” Aziraphale asked after reading the appropriate page. 

“I wanted to please you,” Crowley admitted, aware that his cheeks would be flushed if he had the blood available for it. “I like it when you’re being greedy for it, but it’s sometimes a bit difficult to keep my dicks up and running, you know? Thought this would be easier for giving you what you want and how often you want.”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched and Crowley knew his angel was trying to hide a pleased little smile. He huffed quietly and reached into his bag to pull out a syringe and disinfectant. 

“You silly serpent,” Aziraphale said, sounding fond again, in that way he was when he still tried to retain his anger but was losing it quickly. “Have you forgotten that strap ons exist?” 

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, and then snapped it shut again. 

“Right.”

Aziraphale snorted at him, and Crowley quietly settled back with a quiet embarrassment filling his body. He supposed he really did deserve his suffering for that oversight for once.


	6. Demon Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Behind the Couch

The interruption happened, as those things were wont to, at the most inopportune moment. In this case as Aziraphale was in a state of advanced undress, with a tongue down his throat and a very naked demon grinding on top of him. 

The bell rang harshly, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of ozone and people who thought their bad humour would cement their respectability yet only served to make their underlings quietly hate them more. Aziraphale froze in fear and Crowley tensed, both their eyes darting towards the main part of the bookshop where the door opened and closed. 

“Quick,” Aziraphale hissed, snapping his finger in an urgent miracle just as Crowley raised his hand to do the same. 

In an instant the demon was gone, and Aziraphale was perfectly presentable, clothes back in place and hair neat once more. Only a mild flush on his cheeks betrayed what he’d been up to only seconds earlier. That, and the barely restrained air of annoyance. 

“Good morning,” he called out as he stepped into his bookshop. “Gabriel, what a… wonderful surprise to see you.”

The fact that A. Z. Fell’s and Co had been closed to the public hadn’t deterred the Archangel, and really, it could have only been him who’d interrupt so rudely. Gabriel stood in his pristine suit and coat, looking around the bookshop where he stuck out like… well, like a self important corporate pencil pusher in the middle of a lovely family owned antique books shop.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel drawled, his grin immediately plastered all over his face. Whether or not he knew how unconvincing his smiles looked like, no angel had ever found out. They just quietly grinned back and waited for Gabriel to be done and leave them alone. 

Aziraphale did just that, waiting with barely sustained patience for Gabriel to just get on with the thing he’d come for. 

“I had a free moment and decided to come check up on some work, save you the trouble of coming to Heaven.” Gabriel spoke, running his hand over a stack of books that Aziraphale really rather he didn’t touch. “I know it’s always a reprieve to be back home, but there is so much important work for you down here, yes? We all must make sacrifices.” 

The way he said it really sounded as if he believed that going up to Heaven was the best moment in Aziraphale’s existence. As if he didn’t just hold his breath waiting to be back on Earth every single time.

“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed readily, watching as Gabriel looked around the shop with a mild twitch of his lips. It was no secret that he found the place to be rather silly. 

“Anyway, since I’m already here, how about I collect your centennial report, hm? It’s due after all.”

The report wasn’t due for another two weeks, but Aziraphale was diligent in his work of recording everything. Mostly as he needed to make sure no inconsistencies popped up. Aziraphale knew this, and he knew that Gabriel knew this as well. 

“Of course,” he said, ignoring the way his teeth tried to clench too hard. He quickly fetched the report and handed it over to Gabriel, who looked torn between being impressed and disappointed at the lost opportunity to dish out a prepared speech on diligence at work. 

“Well done!” the Archangel declared. “I shall be on my way then, I’ve got things to read now.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, his smile growing just a tiny bit wider as he watched Gabriel roll up his report and stride out, knowing that Gabriel would never so much as glance at the writing unless he needed to sign something. 

The second the door fell closed Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped. 

“Crowley,” he called out quietly, looking around his shop. He’d done a miracle to hide him, just as Crowley had done the same which… Oh dear. 

Both of them performing a miracle at the same time on the same thing tended to wreak havoc. And Aziraphale hadn’t really thought about where he was sending his lover to, when he’d tried to hide him. So Crowley really could be anywhere. 

Aziraphale looked through his entire shop, behind bookshelves and in corners, under his till and even went upstairs to the seldom used flat. Crowley was nowhere to be found. Surely he hadn’t sent him _too_ far away? Oh no. 

Finally Aziraphale returned to the backroom of his shop, looking at the wine bottle they’d shared earlier with a forlorn expression. 

“Oh Crowley, where are you?” he asked with a sigh, and let himself fall down on the couch again. This had been the start of such a wonderful day too!

“That tosser’s gone then?”

Aziraphale startled at the voice behind him, and quickly turned around. There was nothing behind the couch, just a wall, and-

Crowley rose from behind the furniture, still very much naked and now with cobwebs hanging off him, dust sticking to his damp skin. A rather large dust bunny was tangled in his hair. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out, twisting around to kneel on the couch and help Crowley climb out from behind it. “Have you been here this entire time?”

With a quiet kittenish sneeze Crowley nodded. 

“Course, was surprised you sent me half a foot to the right to be honest, but I couldn’t very well leave with that idiot here, yes?”

He coughed and flicked his tongue out in disgust, trying to get the taste of dust off. 

“Satan, just when was the last time you cleaned here?” 

Aziraphale looked him up and down, feeling only mildly guilty for never taking care of the dust in his bookshop and then sending Crowley into what looked to be the epicenter of said dust. Somehow his demon still looked rather fetching even covered in a layer of grey. 

“Oh, I suppose we will have to continue in the shower in that case,” he said, batting his eyelashes as Crowley blinked once, then twice. 

Then a grin spread on his face. 

“I guess we do need to clean up,” he agreed, and with a snap Aziraphale’s clothes were back off. 

“Let's get started on your spring cleaning then.”


	7. So Speaketh the Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "Prophecies"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Pythia is the woman serving as the Oracle of Delphi

Aziraphale hadn’t really planned to stay in the town for long. He’d come to the peloponnese peninsula on a mission, though not an urgent one, which had led to the angel traveling at a slow pace and enjoying the sights. He’d heard a lot of good things about the beauty of Mount Parnassus, and then the locals had been so nice and their wine had been rather nice. Which was how he ended up slightly tipsy listening to the men around him talk about the temple and the holy women therein. 

“The Pythia is such a striking presence,” one of Aziraphale’s drinking companions said. “Not at all like the previous one. Her voice is so rough and soft at the same time, you can’t help but shiver when she speaks the gods’ prophecies.”

Aziraphale hummed along, more interested in pouring himself more wine, until the men started to drift from describing the prophetic priestess’ clever words and wisdom, and on to her looks, predictably. Which, of course, were of great interest to everyone and… Well. It all sounded rather familiar.

Waiting for everyone to be too drunk to remember the traveller among them, Aziraphale slipped out and towards the temple of Apollo. It was easy to move inside, nobody was there to stop him and the interior was empty of worshippers. A sweet smelling smoke filled the building and soon Aziraphale came into the very core of the temple, finding himself on rough rock and squinting to see through the incense and the smoke rising from a crack in the ground. 

“Bless’d messenger, ensnarled by the wicked you’ll be,” a voice rose from behind the smoke, and Aziraphale blinked to see her. 

A figure was sitting on a tall seat directly above the crack in the rock, shrouded in smoke. She was dressed in the garb of a young maiden, though her face looked too ageless to really be that of a girl, and red hair spilled over her black dress. Serpent eyes glowed in the dim chamber, and Aziraphale let out a soft cry. 

“Crawley! What in Heaven’s name are you doing here?”

The smoke tasted as sweet as it smelled on his tongue, and Crawley cocked her head to the side, smiling. 

“Serving as the Pythia at the local oracle, of course.”

“Are you spreading lies to damn these poor people?” Aziraphale demanded, stepping closer, directly above where the smoke was rising. Crawley really looked beautiful like that, he could see why the men in the village were so enthralled by more than her words. 

“What?” Crawley hissed, blinked, then shook her head. “No, course not, angel! I’m no more a liar than any other Pythia or whoever else claims to predict the future. Prophecies are all up for interpretation and honestly _any_ prophecy will invite trouble if you interpret it wrong.”

Aziraphale squinted at Crawley again. He wished he had more wine for this conversation, honestly. 

“Here, let me give you a prophecy right now! You’re going to teach someone a skill they’ve never known before and change their life through knowing it. See, that can mean literally anything,” Crawley went on, waving her hands around empathically. “Could mean you teach someone how to sail and they become an adventurer and dedicate their life to the ocean. Or you teach someone how to cook a fish real nice and suddenly it’s their favourite dish.”

Aziraphale considered this, then shook his head. 

“What happened to the previous Pythia?”

“Eloped. Had nothing to do with me, promise.”

“Right. Still, even if true prophecies aren’t happening here, you’re still desecrating the human’s holy site.”

“How so?” Crawley demanded, letting out a huff. She really did look lovely in the warm dim light around them, and the dress draped wonderfully over her. Aziraphale tried to focus, ignoring how Crawley’s eyes were roaming over him too. It was too warm in here by far. 

“This is a spot traditionally reserved for virgins,” Aziraphale announced, knowing at least that much of the local culture. “And you’re very much not.”

At this Crawley’s cheeks reddened and she looked to the side, clearly embarrassed and upset. 

“What, you think cause I’m a demon I can’t be a virgin?”

Aziraphale reached out, taking her hands as he sensed the hurt he’d caused unintentionally. 

“Of course not, dear girl, that’s not what I mean at all! What I meant was, since you’ve been on Earth for three thousand years, then surely you must have tried out all the pleasures of the flesh. There’s nothing shameful in being a virgin or not being one, it’s just merely a wonderful experience, and I thought you would have-”

He was rambling, and Crawley managed to flush even more, visible even in the darkness around them. 

“Perhaps I just never had anyone I’d be comfortable trying… that… with.”

Crawley gave Aziraphale a strange look, vulnerable and challenging at the same time. Aziraphale licked his lips, tasting his own sweat and the cloying sweetness of the smoke, the last traces of the wine’s flavour… There was something in the smoke that altered his corporation’s state, he could tell. Not quite drunk, but close to it. If anyone asked, if anyone found out. Well. It was just the intoxication, that was it. 

“Would you trust me enough to be vulnerable around me then?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly. 

Crawley opened her mouth, eyes blazing, and then they were on each other, lips moving together desperately, hands finding their way under robes and Crawley was writhing in Aziraphale’s arms, moaning against his lips as he gently bore her down from her seat and unto the ground. His robes were spread as quickly as he could get them off, providing some cushioning for his demon, and then Crawley was staring up at him, trusting and soft and the smoke around them provided a wonderful sense of privacy that Aziraphale couldn’t have imagined to miracle if he tried. 

It was really rather nice. Aziraphale felt a desperation he’d never experienced before, Crawley’s hands turning to claws that never broke skin, urging him on and begging and demanding he touch her. Her voice became rough and broken when Aziraphale tasted her, sampling the newly created Effort between her legs and making sure she reached her peak under his tongue and hand. He kissed and licked until Crawley’s demands that he get on with it and just hurry up and she could take it died down, leaving only her desperate gasps until she was finally truly relaxed and no longer tense with eagerness and whatever latent anxiety she had about what this sort of encounter was ought to be like. 

Only then did Aziraphale pull his demon closer, wrapping her legs around his hips and entering her oh so carefully. If Crawley was crying a little bit from the intensity and sweetness of the moment, then Aziraphale would graciously allow her to blame that on the smoke later. 

It would have been enough to join like this once. But then Crawley begged Aziraphale for more, and he provided, and then they both decided to try it out with Aziraphale sprawled over their robes with Crawley riding him at a leisurely pace, and then Aziraphale also needed that but urgently while holding her sharp hips in his strong grasp, and then really it just felt really nice so why stop at one. Or five. And who was counting anyway?

They lay together after, Aziraphale still breathing hard, and Crawley with her arms and head cushioned on his chest, very nearly purring as Aziraphale stroked her back. She looked a right mess, with her hair rivaling Medusa’s and Aziraphale’s seed on her thighs. She’d given an annoyed look when Aziraphale tried to clean her up too much, so he’d left her in that debauched state. 

It was hard to tell how much time had passed, given that the smoke obscured any light coming from outside and only the red glow of braizers provided any break in the twilight. 

“That was,” Aziraphale breathed quietly, trying to think of a word. 

“Yeah.”

“Really, dear, it was a bit-”

“If you say _that_ word I’ll throw glowing coals at you.”

“... Fine.”

Crawley looked about ready to fall asleep, very content and looking rather well fucked. Aziraphale squeezed her lovely handful of a bottom playfully, earning him a grumble. 

“You were right, actually,” he said, as Crawley cracked open her eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“About what?”

“About teaching someone something entirely new and life changing,” Aziraphale quipped.

He grinned as Crawley groaned and smacked his chest, grumbling about insufferable angels. 

“You think too highly of yourself,” Crawley muttered, but her lips were quirking in a smile. 

At that moment footsteps sounded from outside the chamber, and before either angel or demon could do something several humans entered. One of them was carrying a lantern, which illuminated the room just enough to provide a perfect view of the rumpled clothes, the very obvious signs of rigorous sexual activity, and a newcomer to town wrapped around their most holy woman inside a sacred temple. It really couldn’t look any worse than that.

“Uh oh-” Aziraphale let out, trying to come up with an explanation as he saw the scandalized faces in front of them.

Then Crawley snapped her fingers and they were outside, high on a mountain cliff overlooking the early sunrise painting the temple below golden. 

Their clothes were scattered about them as well, so Aziraphale grabbed his robes and hastily pulled them against his chest. Crawley seemed to have no issue with modesty. She stretched languidly and yawned, before finger combing her hair into a presentable state with another miracle. Only then did she start dressing herself, not even bothering to clean up. 

“That was a rather rude awakening,” Aziraphale said, feeling like his mind was free from a lustful intoxicated daze for the first time in daze. “Those poor humans will think rather badly of me, I’m afraid.”

“At least half of them had fantasies about their dear holy Pythia,” Crawley responded, finally dressed and grinning down at Aziraphale, who couldn’t bring himself to put on his own clothes. For that he’d very briefly would have to expose himself again, and by the light of day he worried about this now. 

“I’ve made it so that they caught us but saw us escape through a side door before anyone could catch us. That’ll do it.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’ve ruined your reputation with them now,” Aziraphale said, feeling genuinely remorseful. “You must have enjoyed being at the temple if you stayed for so long.”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Crawley shrugged. “Was about time I set out wandering again. Besides, I can’t very well be a Pythia anymore.”

“Whyever not?” Aziraphale asked, blinking up at his demon. She’d cut a rather striking figure after all. 

Crawley’s grin grew sharp, her cheeks’ flush belying her attempts at bravado. 

“Because only virgins can speak prophecies at the oracle.”

With that Crawley winked and turned around with a wave. 

“See you around, angel.”

Aziraphale watched her disappear into the trees, his entire face flaming hot. He waited until the demon was truly gone to put on his clothes, and threw one last look at the temple below. 

That was an experience. And the first prophecy he’d ever heard, even spoken in jest, had turned out to be true. Perhaps prophecies were something to look into, after all. Might very well to lead more pleasant encounters with a certain demon if he was lucky.


	8. Fiery Passions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt “clothing and clothing mishaps”.
> 
> This is set in the 1850s, Aziraphale is presenting female and Crowley male

Snow was falling gently as carriages pulled away from the gorgeous manor where the party was still in full swing. It wasn’t nearly late enough for the young fashionable members of high society to leave, but not too early for a departure to be considered rude. 

The ball, Aziraphale had to admit, had been a success despite his initial misgivings about Crowley taking over the preparations. The demon had procured the invitations, arranged for their travel to and from the house, had picked up Aziraphale’s entire wardrobe, had casually managed to get the angel introduced to just the right targets with more ease than Aziraphale could have.

Miss Janet and Eliza Ritchardsen had quickly taken Miss Fell into their small circle of friends, and by the end of the night Aziraphale knew he’d successfully inspired the two to charitable work. He’d spoken highly enough of the local hospital to set them on their path as well. Crowley meanwhile had gotten to talk favourably about the nearby port and the business one could make with the right kinds of sailors to set up Mr Erik Richardsen, the girls’ brother, to fall in with a rather rough group of smugglers. 

A win for both sides.

Crowley was sprawled out across from Aziraphale in the carriage, looking at the angel with a slight smirk. Aziraphale knew exactly what this was about, and he refused to let Crowley have the satisfaction of being right about something. At least for now. 

“Fancy a nightcap?” Crowley asked. “Celebrate a job well done?”

Aziraphale squirmed in his seat, carefully arranging his wide skirt to be comfortable. He pretended to think about it, pretended like they didn’t both know where this night would end if he set foot in Crowley’s house. 

“I believe that would be a nice way to end the day after the festivities,” he finally agreed, turning his nose up primly.

He allowed Crowley to take his hand as he helped him out of the carriage, and nodded in acknowledgement as the demon held the doors to the house open. Inside it was warm and crisp, as if servants had spent the evening stocking fires, though Aziraphale knew full well that no human ever stepped inside the demon’s house. 

“You do look lovely,” Crowley said as he took Aziraphale’s coat. His grin was entirely too self satisfied.

“Got to admit, angel. My tastes actually do match the time period. And humans are more likely to not see you as silly if you follow the fashions of the day.”

Aziraphale threw him a cross look. But as he walked into the sitting room and by the mirror he paused, unable to keep himself from admiring what Crowley had picked out for him. The dress looked like something that belonged in Heaven. A pale blue and white that looked to glow in the light of the fireplace, fanning out around Aziraphale in a circle. The layers of fine fabric seemed to float with each step as they rested on the crinoline contraption Crowley had talked him into. The neckline was low, exposing the soft curve of Aziraphale’s shoulders and the very top of his chest, just where his breasts began to swell to fullness. His hair was done up in complicated loops and braids, twisting up with pearls and feathers tied into it with white ribbons. In this most modern of fashions Aziraphale really did look like what humans would believe an angel to be these days. No wonder all eyes had been on him and he’d had such an easy time befriending the humans he was meant to influence. 

Aziraphale was still staring at himself, a little taken aback by how beautiful he looked tonight, as Crowley stepped up behind him. The stiff solid black of his sharp tailored clothes was a more drastic contrast to Aziraphale than usual, and as always the visual of them together took the angel’s breath away.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in the room at any given time,” Crowley teased, running his hands over Aziraphale’s exposed shoulders, fingertips touching the back of his neck. “And I know just how to make humans notice.”

Aziraphale shivered under his adversary lover’s touch, letting out a gasp. 

“Oh alright,” he conceded. “I had my doubts about these newfangled gowns, but you’ve really outdone yourself.” 

Hot lips brushed over the back of his neck, and Aziraphale felt his very core heat up.

“You always look breathtaking when you match the time,” Crowley rasped against his ear, breath hot and voice desperate. “Do you even know what this is doing to me?”

“Perhaps I avoid the current fashions to permit your mind to linger on anything other than me,” Aziraphale suggested, biting back a whimper as Crowley’s hands dug against his waist, hot even through the stiff layers of his bodice.

“Impossible.”

Crowley’s touch grew more heated, Aziraphale whimpering under the attention. Before he could do anything else Crowley swung him around, and then Aziraphale was being pressed against the wall. The hoops of Aziraphale’s skirt bent out of the way as Crowley stepped closer, their bodies flush.

“You’re incorrigible,” Aziraphale gasped out, his hands clutching at Crowley’s hair as the demon’s hot tongue licked a stripe over his neck.

He felt flushed all over, an inferno spreading in his body as Aziraphale’s legs grew wobbly. Crowley was far too good at undoing him so quickly. His demon was all Hellfire, the scent of burned sugar and smoke and-

“Crowley!”

The sharp cry startled Crowley up and away from where he’d been sucking marks against Aziraphale’s chest. He looked sufficiently alarmed at the sudden scent of Hell near them, both on their guard at all times. Then his eyes widened in shock.

“Are there demons nearby?” Aziraphale gasped out, fear for his serpent’s safety seizing his heart. 

“No, your dress, it’s-“

“Nevermind my dress, I smelled-“

“Fire! Your dress is on fire!”

Aziraphale twisted around just in time to see what had happened. The pressure of Crowley’s body against him had shifted the crinoline out of shape just enough that it had been pushed awfully close to the fireplace, and as Aziraphale was still staring in shock the small flame on the edge of his skirts flared up and swallowed up half the dress!

Two simultaneous snaps of miracle and the flame stuttered out with a loud hiss, properly chastised at daring to flick so close to an angel. But it was already too late for the dress. Half of Aziraphale’s voluminous skirts had been swallowed up by the fire, destroying the layers and exposing the construction of the crinoline to the world, along with Aziraphale’s legs. The fire had been awfully close to swallowing him whole, and worse, had left him entirely indecent.

“That was close,” Crowley observed, now much calmer that the danger was gone and had been revealed to be of a mundane and earthly nature. 

“Look what happened to my dress,” Aziraphale cried, already unfastening what remained of his skirts and stepped out of the contraption that gave the dress its volume. “Never in my life have my clothes been so easily flammable! Singed, at most, not this!”

He gestures at the remains of the fine material. Aziraphale couldn’t help but be cross at this. Crowley had gifted this gown to him after all.

The demon circled him, checking him over for damage. 

“Guess there’s set backs in fashion too. But look at the bright side, this is convenient too.”

Aziraphale had to resist the urge to stomp his foot.

“How could me nearly going up in flames be in any way convenient?”

Crowley stepped closer again, his hands on Aziraphale’s hips and now as hot as the flames had been through the thin layer of Aziraphale’s chemise that separated them.

“You’re already that much more undressed,” Crowley said, a grin spreading across his face.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, frowned, and then sighed against his demon’s lips as Crowley leaned in for a kiss. He supposed that he could suffer the fashions of the day once or twice a century, if this was the outcome after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently the materials and airiness of skirts and crinolines was extremely suitable for going up in flames very quickly . Woops


	9. When the Demon's Away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What Do They Do When They Are Apart. 
> 
> Aziraphale tries to have some private time but fails

In 6000 years on Earth it was far from uncommon for Crowley and Aziraphale to be in different parts of the world at any given moment. 

Aziraphale was used to it. He knew how it went when Crowley was gone for any lengthy period of time. Ever since the Arrangement began Crowley would let him know where he was about to go, offering to take over any tasks Aziraphale might have in that corner of the world in exchange for taking care of Crowley’s business wherever the angel happened to be. Then he’d send messages, by very distrubed and worried looking pigeon, through letters written with a beautiful flourish, and once humans came up with the technology through telegrams or calls and even emails with photos attached. Crowley would stay away for however long he needed. Then, at least a week before he was set to return, the correspondence would cease, and then Crowley would waltz into Aziraphale’s residence with stories of wherever he’d been. 

It was all rather predictable, especially as human communication grew quicker and quicker. Crowley didn’t message or call Aziraphale when he was in London himself, but the second he travelled he’d let the angel know about all he was doing. Then, if more than seven days had passed with no word, Aziraphale knew exactly that Crowley was on his way back. He’d always known more about Crowley’s whereabouts when he was far away than when he was in the country. If Crowley didn’t message for at least a week, Aziraphale knew that Crowley would return soon. 

Aziraphale saw the familiar pattern repeat after the Armageddoff. They rarely spent a day apart, now that nobody was looking over their shoulders. He could experience the pleasure of Crowley’s company near constantly, delighting in having his dearest friend so close fearlessly for the first time. They laughed more openly in public, Aziraphale was quite happy to sit closer to him, Crowley still circled him and kept an eye out for danger, but he looked much more at ease as well. It was rather wonderful. Crowley had pouted a little the first time Aziraphale decided to take a weekend trip to examine a private collection of old manuscripts, and the demon didn’t feel like joining, but they really couldn’t spend _every_ day together with their varied interests. 

Soon after Crowley announced that he hadn’t been to Azerbaijan for a while and went off. It went exactly as it always did. Crowley sent postcards and attempted to text Aziraphale’s phone (an old rotary which would dutifully transfer anything to Aziraphale’s nearly equally ancient computer). He’d describe nonsense he was up to and assured the angel that he was having fun. Then the calls and postcards stopped, and exactly seven days later Crowley came to the bookshop with a box of baklava. 

Crowley travelled much more after that, always repeating the pattern. Aziraphale didn’t follow his example, preferring to relax and enjoy the first time he didn’t _have_ to go anywhere at all. There was also something rather pleasurable in staying exactly where he was only to have Crowley return _home_ to him. 

There was, also, a rather selfish part of wanting Crowley to go out and enjoy himself. Much as Aziraphale loved his demon’s constant company, he also did have certain… needs. Needs that required some privacy now and again, which was a little hard if Crowley was just constantly there or prone to pop in at any moment. 

So when Aziraphale received a call from Crowley over in Alaska, he knew that now was his chance to unwind in ways that were not meant for the demon’s eyes. 

He smiled to himself as he set down the phone, and then went to his bedroom. It was seldom used, the bed used to read or store books he hadn’t picked a spot on the bookshelves for yet. But the room did contain his wardrobe, where Aziraphale stored all of his favourite possessions. With a happy hum Aziraphale carefully removed his suit and hung up everything with great care, hanging everything up safely. Then he started pulling out the clothes best suited for his own private time.

Old boxer shorts with a pattern of pineapples, long since faded and no longer vibrant at all. Next came slippers with a tartan pattern that even Aziraphale had to admit was a bit garish. The sole had detached nearly halfway on one of them, but Aziraphale saw no reason to replace them yet. Next came a shirt he’d gotten in a goodie bag from a radio station that had long ceased existing, and a maroon bathrobe that was just a little too big. Putting everything on Aziraphale sighed at the decadent comfort of absolute rubbish. Once that was done he miracled a box of snacks out of their pocket dimension. He got these things shipped from the Americas, and always hid them furtively lest anyone spot them. 

Next Aziraphale went back downstairs and arranged all of his snacks on the couch around him, for easy access. A snap of his fingers and with a frivolous miracle his ancient television set slid out from behind the bookshelves. It was so rarely used these days, since Crowley had announced that the old thing didn’t have enough inches about two decades ago, and so Aziraphale had pushed it out of the way for most days. 

The television buzzed briefly, and then switched to being able to display and program from any continent easily. Aziraphale made himself comfortable and took a sip from the cloyingly sweet iced tea he’d discovered some time in the 20th century and had grown quite fond of secretly. He clicked through the channels until he settled on his favourite show that would provide sufficient nonsense for his relaxation. There was nothing quite as delightful as watching humans claim aliens had built anything old civilizations had achieved. 

Aziraphale chuckled to himself and ripped open a pack of flaming hot cheetos, melting into the couch and stretching out his legs. There really was nothing that could make him unwind faster than this. He’d spend a few days doing nothing, eating terrible food that tasted like it had spent its entire existence being created in a lab, with television programming designed to make your head hurt if you tried to logic with it. It really wasn’t something he could be doing with Crowley around, but thankfully the demon would be gone for at least another week, since he’d called so recently. 

Hours passed as Aziraphale watched reruns of shows where humans tried really hard to make the world more complicated than it was, eating food that crunched too loudly in his ears and taking sips of drinks that were more sugar than flavour. He finished a massive bag of cheetos and licked his fingers thoughtfully, before wiping them on his robe. He glanced at the mountain of snacks next to him, then eyed the now empty bag speculatively. There was still bright red dusting stuck to the foil on the inside. With a shrug Aziraphale ripped the bag apart, and then spread it out to lick up the last morsels of the treat. 

His tongue was firmly working over the foil with no concern of decorum when the bell to the shop rang. Aziraphale froze, staring wide eyed as a rather too familiar figure sauntered around the corner, partially obscured by a frankly magnificent bouquet of flowers. 

“Angel! Surprise, I’m back a bit early and-”

Crowley froze, and Aziraphale was still unable to move, mortification too strong a hold on him, both staring at each other. Crowley was dressed as neatly as he could make it, with a nice suit and even a tie, Aziraphale in as much disarray as he could possibly make himself be in. Crowley opened his mouth in shock, his head moving slowly as he took in the arch of Aziraphale’s embarrassment, the snacks and drinks, his clothes, the TV that was still displaying shameful programming. 

“What-”

“It’s not what you think!” Aziraphale cried immediately, covering his chest as if that would make any difference. Crowley had already seen his ratty shirt and frankly everything else. “It’s- I-”

Crowley let out a disbelieving snort, but he was grinning. 

“What’s all this then? Did you decide on sudden lifestyle changes?”

“No,” Aziraphale cried. “This is just what I do in my private time, when I want to relax.”

“Just what you do?” Crowley hooted and walked over until he could perch on the couch’s armrest. “Angel, who knew you could contain multitudes. Is that iced tea over there?”

Aziraphale felt his entire face heat up, the blush surely creeping down his neck by now. 

“I didn’t want you to know. You’d… I thought you’d think less of me.”

Crowley’s smile was soft and he set down the flowers he’d brought on the coffee table. 

“Angel. I could never think less of you.”

He said it so sincerely that Aziraphale felt his shoulders relax a little, and he managed a hesitant smile. Just then Crowley’s own smile grew sharp and delighted. 

“Now, could I tease you mercilessly for this for the next century? I think that one’d be a positive.”


	10. Break in at the Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was crossovers, so a crossover with the Old Guard it is!

Breaking and entering was certainly not something an angel should approve of, let alone participate in, but Aziraphale figured that it would be forgivable in this case. He was only trying to retrieve his own belongings that had left his possession quite by accident after all. 

The museum was closed to the public, of course, and the archives lay empty as it was just a little past midnight. Aziraphale easily walked by the nighttime guards, not wishing to be seen and thus not being detected. He wasn’t entirely sure where his old secretary desk was, though he knew it was part of the museum’s collection. It was only recently that it occurred to him that he had a secret compartment in it, sealed by divine power and thus most certainly undetectable by humans. As the remarkably well preserved item had been donated to some private collection, an antique, even during the reign of Queen Victoria, it had taken quite a bit of searching before Aziraphale could figure out where it was currently stored. And now he needed the contents of the desk back.

The archive was quiet, with boxes and shelves storing ancient treasures and manuscripts and documents of a time gone by. Aziraphale had no interest in these, and he only spared short looks at the boxes full of vase shards and sculptures and jewelry that were awaiting research or restoration. He remembered the times most of these were quite new, and had personal items from those same periods back in his bookshop anyway.

Not knowing the actual system of the archive Aziraphale wandered around leisurely, hands clasped behind his back, only pausing to truly investigate anything that could hold something like the furniture he was missing. He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, so the sudden appearance of a young woman in front of him came as a bit of a surprise. 

She whipped out a small handgun before Aziraphale could so much as make an exclamation of surprise. She was rather young, probably in her early twenties, with dark skin and hair tied back in neat braids. The young woman’s expression was startled, but she had a determined look about her. 

“Now, that’s a surprise,” he said, eying the gun warily. She wasn’t aiming at him directly, but Aziraphale figured that the human would not hesitate should he make a threatening move.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, an American accent in her voice. Ah. That probably explained the gun.

“Just looking to collect something of mine that has ended up here by mistake,” Aziraphale said with what he hoped was a soothing smile. “I’ll be right out of your way in no time.”

“Who’s this?”

Another woman stepped from behind a crate, staring at Aziraphale as well. She looked familiar, and it took a moment for the angel to place where he had seen her before.

“My old friend!” Aziraphale exclaimed in Sycithan, rather rusty in the ancient language but still able to use it somewhat. “It has been a while.”

Andromache’s expression melted into a delighted smile at the sound of her mother tongue.

“Mr Fell! It really has,” she replied in English. The young woman at her side threw her a worried look and put away the gun when her companion showed no sign of tension. 

“You know that guy?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 

“You could say so,” Andromache told her, smiling crookedly. “This one’s probably been around for longer than me. Name’s Aziraphale, unless he goes by something else. And this is Nile, the youngest of us,” she added, nodding towards the woman.

“Is he one of us?” Nile asked cautiously. 

“Oh, you are one of those curious immortal humans, aren’t you?” Aziraphale exclaimed, excitedly. He’d never figured out why certain humans seemed to just not die at all, and had enviously noted that they didn’t even need to acquire new corporations if their old one got damaged. But occasionally his path had crossed with them, and he did enjoy having a human to talk to about centuries gone by. 

He saw Nile mouth the word ‘human’ with a dubious expression, but Andromache had already stepped closer. She looked quite different from the last time he’d seen her, always changing to match the times at a pace that Aziraphale simply refused to keep up with himself. 

“Don’t worry about it Nile, he’s not really like us. I’m not sure he’s even human, though he never did explain,” she glared at Aziraphale with a smirk. “So what are you doing here? Last I knew you, you were against any kind of criminal activity.”

“It’s not criminal to want to retrieve something you owned to begin with,” Aziraphale huffed. “I merely realized that something of mine is in a museum, and I would like to have it back. And given that you’re here, I would assume you have the same purpose?”

Andromache nodded. 

“Indeed. There’s a notebook belonging to Joe, and he wants it back. It contains some private content apparently. You know how it is.”

Both her and Nile shared a knowing smile, and Aziraphale couldn’t help his own fond one. 

He had met the young priest by the name of Nicolo once, trying to give him some encouragement while he struggled himself to reconcile the idea of a holy war. While She didn’t approve of wars, surely, Heaven at the time said that humans inspiring each other to have more faith was all in all a good thing. The priest was the only immortal Aziraphale had met before the man himself knew of his strange gift. In the end, Nicolo had survived a gruesome battle and had emerged with a lover from the opposite side, a merchant turned soldier by the name of Yusuf. Aziraphale had watched them try to communicate with each other, unpracticed im speaking each other’s languages, and had felt warm all over. That two humans taught to hate and fight each other could still experience this most beautiful of human emotions? Well, it did make Aziraphale’s heart ache somewhat. 

That Yusuf would write tender poetry and sketch his lover in notebooks Aziraphale had figured out in the very brief times they’d encountered each other. It was all rather sweet. 

“Then let us look together,” Aziraphale suggested, clasping his hands together. “I wouldn’t want that nice young man to miss his book either.”

They started looking through the cases together, looking through notebooks with both Nile and Aziraphale occasionally asking Andromache for descriptions of what they were trying to find. 

“So…” Nile asked after a while, as Aziraphale carefully looked through the collections of old notebooks the museum had. “You’re not… human?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Aziraphale laughed. 

Nile stared at him with a furrowed brow, clearly expecting him to elaborate on that, but Aziraphale just tapped the side of his nose with a finger and winked. 

He looked around then, and his eyes fell on an elegant 17th century desk that was rather familiar. 

“Oh!” he cried, rushing towards it. 

“Is that one of yours?” Nile asked, following him, apparently curious to see. “What’s with immortals and losing track of their belongings?”

Aziraphale hummed along, running his hand over the edge of the secretary desk. A miracle tingled against his fingers and a compartment no human was capable of finding in its closed state sprung out. 

“Aha,” he said, “this is what I was looking for!”

A few dull quills lay inside, stained with ink, as well as a block of wax and a golden locket. He retrieved the locket and let the compartment close again, cradling the precious item in his palms. As Aziraphale expected, the metal had not dulled at all, and when he opened it to reveal his treasure. 

A single red braid wound into a spiral under a thin layer of glass, just as vibrant as the day he’d snuck a small lock as its owner dozed in drunken stupor. 

“That’s way too vibrant to be normal either,” Nile commented when she saw. 

Aziraphale smiled and hid the locket in his chest pocket, right over his heart. 

“I believe it knew I’d be rather upset if it lost its lustre.”

At that moment Andromache returned, carrying a small book bound in leather, looking to be at least two centuries old. 

“Joe should be glad I can’t read this exact dialect,” she said, wrapping it up and sliding it into a pocket. “But at least I recognized the art when I checked if I had the right thing.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly. 

“Then I believe we are done here? How about we go out for a late night dinner? I would very much like to get to know you, Miss Nile. And Andromache, we haven’t caught up since 37, if I am not mistaken.”

Nile furrowed her brow again, letting out a resigned sigh as Andromache grinned and indicated for Aziraphale to lead the way. 

“Which 37 was that? Is it too much to ask for it to be 1937?”

“Oh no no. It was 1737, over in Spain, yes?” 

“Portugal, actually,” Andromache corrected. 

And so, with their respective treasures secured, two immortals and an angel went out in search of a quiet bar.


	11. Lost at the IKEA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale go to IKEA

It had started like most other things did, with a casual observation and nothing better to do. The little day trip to Milton Keynes, for which neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could claim full credit for, and the realization that they had not actually planned anything interesting for the day.

Aziraphale had casually observed the IKEA nearby, Crowley had pointed out that neither of them had been inside one for quite a while, to which the angel had wondered if they might find something for their increasingly mixed-up shared living space. Some compromise between hopelessly antiquated and the harsh and lean designer furniture Crowley favoured. 

Now, nearly an hour later, Aziraphale had a pocket full of notes with fancifully named furniture and places the flat above the bookshop might suit them (the space would adjust itself, no need for measurements. He had, also, completely lost track of Crowley. 

The last time he’d seen the demon, Crowley had been loudly criticizing products in front of already indecisive customers, as well as inspiring mismatched young couples to reach the end of their temper sooner rather than later. Then Aziraphale had gotten distracted by the Godmorgon sink and got lost in thought of two toothbrushes potentially looking quite fetching on one of these. 

He was hopelessly lost inside the labyrinthine building, frowning pitifully and keeping an eye out on more than the usual levels of discord. He couldn’t leave without Crowley, (well, he could, theoretically, he didn’t actually need the Bentley to return to London-) nor did he want to be parted from the demon in. The general air of human emotions in such a crowded place as well as the confusing layout made it hard to pick out the demonic presence with precision. 

Casually inspiring patience and blessing the human families that looked happy to be in each other’s presence, Aziraphale wandered aimlessly, ignoring the crisp white arrows that were projected onto the floor by overhead lamps. He needed to find Crowley, wanted the reassuring presence of his demon close enough that he could reach out and hold his hand if he so wished. Needed to decide whether they actually both wanted the furniture they found nice enough, and then, of course, the true purpose for coming here-

A sharp shriek rising among the giggles and cooing somewhere nearby alerted Aziraphale to the children’s section. Following the sound, he watched as a woman rushed past, her face pale as chalk, a giggling child with an oversized shark holding onto her hand. Making his way through a gaggle of children with various stuffed toys and brightly coloured child sized furniture he finally found the source of the tiny commotion. 

Several crates held a truly astounding number of stuffed toys, rats and dogs, several items of food, and bears with odd proportions. And there, from the centre of it all, Aziraphale could sense the familiar presence. 

“Crowley, really?” Aziraphale chided. “Must you scare these poor people?”

For a few seconds nothing happened, then the pile of toys shifted and the shiny black snout of a snake popped out from between them. 

“Jusssst having sssssome fun,” Crowley said, flicking his tongue. Then he was out of the crate and stood once more in the shape of a man. 

Aziraphale clucked his tongue in turn. 

“Well, I wasted quite a lot of time looking for you!”

He turned and observed the area. 

“And all this running about made me quite peckish. I suppose we’ll have to stay here for lunch, thanks to your antics.”

“Don’t worry, angel,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale the sweetest smile. “I knew this might take a while, so I looked up what’s in the area. There’s an Ethiopian place nearby, I’m sure you’d love. How about it?”

Aziraphale hesitated, thinking of the perfect blend of bright red and creamy brown sauce he was craving so-

“But we still have to get the furniture from the warehouse. It would be a hassle to leave now, I know how you dislike adjusting the Bentley’s trunk. Best have a meal now that we’re already-“

“Nonsense, we can come back and pick up anything we need after lunch. Or miracle it home.”

Crowley made to leave, walk right past Aziraphale’s goal, and he opened his mouth, starting to get worried about getting his way without Crowley catching on to-

But had already paused for too long, mouth turning down in a pout he had never bothered to suppress in front of Crowley and couldn’t hide out of habit now-

Crowley stopped, looking at Aziraphale for a moment. Then he grinned. 

“Angel. You were craving the mass-produced köttbullar, weren’t you?”

“I most certainly would never,” Aziraphale huffed, turning his nose up even as his cheeks reddened under Crowley’s gleeful little grin. 

“You did! You tricked me into coming here to have food way below the standards you pretend to have!”

Aziraphale was absolutely pouting by now, and he couldn’t even pretend that he wasn’t. At last Crowley softened, the mocking smile melting into a fond one. 

“Well, lets get you those meatballs then. And I’ll buy you some lingonberry jam later. And those cheap little ice creams.”

“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale exclaimed, petulance immediately forgotten. 

Crowley offered his arm for Aziraphale with a slight bow, as if they were going to the Ritz on an especially fancy night. Aziraphale took it immediately, wiggling slightly with anticipation as he thought of the delicacies that he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, lest anyone catch on to his culinary misadventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm craving köttbullar, leave me alone


	12. Failed Summons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Prompt "Summoning"
> 
> rated G

Crowley knew that he’d been summoned by some loon before he was fully finished waking up from his pleasant afternoon nap on the bookshop’s couch. He was greeted by the unpleasant stale scent of a rarely used storage room and damp sawdust. The floor under his feet was dusty concrete lined with shaky lines of chalk, a summoning circle that clearly hadn’t been drawn by an expert but nevertheless was enough to hold him trapped for as long as it might take Crowley to weasel his way out of it. 

The first thing he saw as he slowly took form was that the candles around him were rather redundant, as there was a dirty window near the ceiling, flooding what looked to be a basement with light bright enough to drown out the tiny flames. Next, he spotted several boxes, cardboard that had been stored rather than recycled to preserve space, a broken bicycle in a corner, an empty box for beer bottles, and another summoning circle. The second one lacked any kind of entrapping sigils though. 

The summoning was complete within seconds, and Crowley sighed as soon as his lungs had fully materialized. 

“Right, what can I do for you today? Untold riches? Forbidden knowledge?”

Crowley looked up at the man who stood before him, hands clutched around a folder with printed out sheets. He didn’t look remarkable at all, just a middle-aged man with pale skin and wide eyes, his dull brown hair shot through with the first streaks of grey. He was dressed like an accountant or some other equally unexciting profession, a cream tie with yellow stripes that the man probably thought to be daring and exciting. He stank of mediocrity and a midlife crisis. 

“I will not be tempted by a foul demon!” the man, an American from the sounds of it, cried out, barely suppressing his shaking. Whether he was excited or afraid, Crowley couldn’t tell. 

“I shall never follow the Devil!”

“The fuck did you summon me for then?” Crowley asked, throwing up his hands in frustration. It had been centuries that anyone had summoned him against his will, and he was more than a little cross at the intrusion into his daily routine. 

“You shall be a sacrifice for the greater good!” the man said, leafing through his folder quickly until he found what he was looking for several bent pages later. Not very organized that. 

Crowley groaned when he started hearing the first words of another summoning. Great, company, and he truly didn’t wish to see any of his colleagues again. 

With how rusty his Latin was, Crowley figured he could be forgiven for how long it took him to realize that the second summoning wasn’t for a demon at all. 

“Hang on, mate, what are you doing there?” Crowley asked, frowning as he watched the man light more candles with golden crosses stamped into the wax. 

“To ask for the presence of who I need is not as easy as calling for one of your lot,” the man sneered. He set down his folder and started rooting through one of the nearby boxes, pulling forth an empty chalice made of cheap metal, and a dagger that looked much too elaborate and ceremonial for everyday use. The edge was sharp though, and humans tended to slip into theatrics when they wished to hurt. 

“Hey, really now, let’s talk about this,” Crowley started as the man started to approach him. “I’m sure I can provide whatever it is you are after, there’s no need-”

“Only an angel of the Lord Almighty can give me what I want, fiend,” the man replied. “No minion of Satan like you could do what an angel can!”

“About that, it’s actually a misconception-”

The man raised the dagger, hands towards the Heavens and Crowley felt the thrum of divine energy fill the room. 

“Oh Lord, I am thy most humble servant, I ask thee- with the blood of the adversary, to accept my call-”

“Now now, there’s no need for that, my dear man.”

Both Crowley and the American whipped around, looking at the hazy golden glow that had filled the basement. Aziraphale smiled softly as he looked about the room curiously, wings stretched out for full effect. He looked at the angelic summoning circle curiously then stepped out of it with ease. 

“I don’t actually need any sort of sacrifice. Rather barbaric, don’t you think? In fact, I came looking as soon as I felt my dear boy disappear-”

Before Aziraphale could finish the human fell to his knees with enough force to make Crowley wince in sympathy. 

“Oh, holy angel!” he cried out, bowing to a rather uncomfortable looking Aziraphale. “I am at your mercy.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, then glanced up at Crowley nervously, only receiving a shrug in response. 

“There really isn’t any need for this,” Aziraphale said gently, smiling with a reassuring smile as the human finally looked back up. “How about you tell me what you summoned us both for, and then we can be on our way?”

“But of course,” the man cried out, eyes bright with tears and religious extasy. “I have called you for Armageddon!” 

“Eh… what?”

The two ethereal beings with no true allegiance shared a worried glance as the man went on eagerly. 

“Reverend Brown has been preparing us for the end of all day, when the godless sinners will be struck down and the earth will flood with fire and brimstone! The chosen souls will rise to the Kingdom of Heaven as the heathens will suffer and die!”

Aziraphale’s smile froze on his face, a grimace now, as Crowley huffed a sigh. One of those nutters then. The first time a human had prophesised the end of the world and horrid suffering (for all but their followers, of course) Crowley had been nervous. What if the humans knew something the bosses hadn’t told him? Then he’d quickly learned to spot the cults and ignored the nonsense unless it was to cause some mischief. 

“The end is upon us,” the man kept going. “So, I have summoned thee, to… ah. See, us true believers will be sent to Heaven, of course. But it is our holy duty to enlighten those around us.”

He gestured widely.

“What better way to convert those who doubt than with the help of a true angel?”

Aziraphale shuffled uncomfortably, then straightened his bowtie. 

“I am very sorry to disappoint, but I can’t really do that.”

The men’s face fell as he looked up at the angel imploringly. 

“Is it against the Lord’s will?”

Aziraphale shrugged and stepped towards Crowley. He smudged one of the chalk lines with his shoe and gallantly reached out to help Crowley out of the circle. Unnecessary, but still a rather sweet gesture.

“I wouldn’t know what She has in plan,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the man’s goggle-eyed look at the casual interactions. 

“Then tell me what to do about Armageddon?” the man pleaded, looking desperate. 

“’fraid we can’t help with that either,” Crowley said with a grin. “Best thing is to do nothing.”

“There won’t be any sort of Armageddon,” Aziraphale said, as if to reassure the man who looked as if his world was indeed crumbling around him. “I’m afraid we have rather put a stop to the proceedings. You can enjoy the world just the way it is for the rest of your life, dear man.”

With a snap of his fingers the door to the basement opened and Aziraphale linked his arm with Crowley’s, leading him past the human, ignoring the mental breakdown happening in the room. 

“Now, since we’re already in this part of the world, what would you say to some Étouffée?”

Crowley threw one last look at the human going through his crisis, then grinned and led his angel through the door. 

“It would be my pleasure, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to podcasts involving doomsday cults and so on and like... it's kind of funny in context of Good Omens

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] So Speaketh the Oracle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451137) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)




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